


Let Me Drink From the Well of Liberty.

by MorningGlory21



Series: Of Gods Known and Born [1]
Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Gen, Mild Gore, Smile, Tommyinnt Branded Cussing, and he can see that wilbur is manipulating everybody around him long before VILBUR, anyhow dream is a weird god who becomes fond of tommy like a younger brother, basically a retelling of the events w lmanburg but thru a third person pov of dream, how might one say about my writing? purple prose, purplyyyydffds prose, sorry NOT third person it's second person, tommy starts to get more POVs around the election arc, will slowly shift into a tommy centric fic until i can hop off into it's own fic lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:53:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 16,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26975443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorningGlory21/pseuds/MorningGlory21
Summary: You are an endless being. You have seen endless, countless, dawns and dusks. You were here first, and you know you'll be the last.But sometimes, things happen in-between.Like an amusing little nation.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo & TommyInnit, Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Series: Of Gods Known and Born [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1973485
Comments: 84
Kudos: 426





	1. Blink

When you look out across the valley, before it is marred by fickle hands, you will be full of a feeling - a primal awesome that swells. Rivers snaking, hills rising, all to support a sky that looks warmly down upon you. Lands untouched for countless ages. You have watched them for countless ages, a silent and faceless steward.

You don’t remember very clearly how you came to this land. It was with a blink, and you were in the midst of a forest. Nothing gave you any indication of how you came here, and any prior memories you had had were gone from your mind that day. It seemed endless, that forest, and so you walked until you came to a lake.

You built a small house and you fished and all was well for you.

Blink, and soon there will be activity. Friends that leap across the great expanses. They knew not of the history soon to be made, and bled and fought for. Lands untouched, but soon to be shifted. Soon to be marred by mutual greed and war. You won't believe that things can change so quickly, and you console yourself: it isn't quick, you've simply grown placid to time. 

Time has become something to ignore for you. Your friends aged slowly; not absent like you were, but simply slow. You grew soft with them and you gave them powers, too - powers you rarely used, and they never did.

All was well for you all.

Blink, and soon a bevy of newcomers arrives. As if a dock rose up to meet their feet, they settled into mountains and hills. Ceaseless chatter rose up in the night and by day, they hadn't stopped. Castles, squat homes, winding towers - all rose up, to be places to live in. You think them amusing, and sometimes you'll help. Time is a river and you've sailed upon it far too long now to not have fun. 

These newcomers are like your first friends, and some are not. The loud, blond boy is annoying but he grows on you. He annoys you. He causes the most chaos, picks the most fights, laughs the loudest. Your first friends tell you you could use your powers to banish him, make him never return. It would be for the best, in the long run. The pros outweigh the cons, realistically. It would be better.

And for some reason, you do not.

You blink, oh endless one, and nothing is the same. For a being so lonely, so ageless, so powerful, you forget that those that live are so fickle. They move, they change their surroundings when it does not quite fit their needs. You made friends (George, Sapnap, Callahan) with the original ones in this land, but the new ones quite evade your nosey gaze. There's loose ends that you banish (that goat), there's mortals you quarrel with (that blond and his discs, shining with so much promise), there's fun to be had. 

Blink, oh endless one, and you'll be bereft of the ever changing lives of those who die. Your face is unmoving porcelain and for the longest time, the only thing that could stir your heart was the thrill of a fight. The thrill of becoming better.

Blink.


	2. Simply a Matter of Words.

You blink, and suddenly, the blond boy and his older friend (brother? mentor?) have decided to form a new nation. In that valley, with the rivers and the hills overlooking. You find it amusing, because this is the most serious you think you remember the boy being. He’s committed.

Good for him, you’ll think while sharpening your own blade. You aren’t violent. You’re committed to keeping peace.

It's quite amusing, seeing the new nation. You sit atop the hills that feed into the valley, faceless and unchanging, and look upon those black walls. You aren't like them but still you can't help but be amused. They dress up in flashy clothes and break the simple rules you set when the first mortals came to your lands. This isn’t the first time the blond boy has stirred up trouble, and you expect it won’t be the last.

But this time, he isn’t the one calling the shots.

You remember the one they begin to call their President. You remember letting him back to speak with the boy, and you trace their movements like a petulant child with ants from above. They walk and they talk and part of you wishes to be privy. So many chances to bow, and they refuse your mercies. Because you’re in the right, and many have agreed with you - simple rules to follow, and they have been followed to a T before - and yet, their President quickly paints _you_ in the wrong. He has the blond boy and the brunette boy and that fox son of his, wrapped around his fingers. 

You have the distance to see the strings and while you’d like to tell the blond that he’s being led along, you wouldn’t be listened to.

You’re the villain in this story being written. Written by a liar, that has convinced the young and the foolish that he is truthful. 

Which is fine with you - time is on your side, no matter how many times you blink.

So you wait for their flags, and blink.

<->-<->

“You’ll take the deal?” George asks, head tilted with an intense amount of incredulity. “Really?”

Eret looks at you, then George, then Sapnap, then Punz and then back to you. His eyes give nothing away and it makes you think of your own face. Except, you can see his eyebrows quirk, his lips twitch as he readies his little speech.

You don’t really pay attention. You’re thinking of the ways to force the rebels back in line. You have so much power and you could simply kill them all. But you are full of ancient mercy - and something more halts you.

There are children within their ranks.

But if you indirectly force them into submission, not by your blade, then perhaps you will be less of a villain. You aren’t a villain, really - simply a shepherd, trying to return his wayward flock. Break their knees, not their backs, and you will have a beast easier to take down. And you're too fond of their little ideals of liberty (while breaking simple rules), their vigor and patriotism and their ways of being amusing. Nothing much has amused you in _forever_ and it would be a shame to get rid of them so quickly. And what else would be amusing?

Their faces in the front of a betrayal.

So you tell Eret -

> "Make a trap. Lead them into it. We'll be waiting. You've made a good choice, and I hope you can live with it."

And he makes a face and you wish you could tell him - you're ridding yourself of friends you made. Will you live with that, with your short life, with a life that'll be gone in a blink? 

You blink, and he's gone.


	3. Something In-Between

You’re sharpening your blade, alone, when you hear footsteps. Warm summer air has never bothered you and your odd choice of clothes, but the wind carries the sound and cools you. Your presence isn’t hidden, you’re sitting on some piece of shattered wall alongside the wooden pathway that blond calls the Prime Path. It’s amusing, so you’ve kept it. 

But those footsteps are heavy and with purpose, so you perk up. Familiar blond hair and blazing blue eyes look at you, so below. You wonder if he suspects Eret; does he know a snake with eyes of an endless, bright void, lies in wait in their grass? You contemplate the humor of the blond howling in rage, for blood, when it happens.

> “Bold to show your face.”

You say easily. Then, you see he stands firm on his Prime Path and you chuckle.

> “Or do you think you’re still on your own land, Tommy?”

He doesn’t even miss a beat and if you clapped, you would have. So brave. “I’m just here to say, big man, you’re going to lose!” He waves his arms with a small smile and you let out a stifled exhale - a laugh to you, a scoff to him. 

You do miss the times you and him would shoot the wind and cause harmless mayhem. A life lived and passed by, all for that president of his.

You hop off the wall and sheathe your sword.

> “I’d run along home, Tommy. Never know when a big day will happen for your little nation.”

“L’Manburg.” He stresses and you nod as if you cared. Whatever makes him happy makes you amused. “And we’ll win. Hold me to that, you green fuck.”

Words catch in your mouth as he runs, laugh-screaming as his brown-haired friend catches up with him. You’re caught with the suddenness of it and when you know he isn’t around, you laugh. It’s a full-bodied thing, a laugh you only let George and Sapnap see and hear.

Oh, you’ll definitely hold Tommy to it. 

You almost hope he will win, if only to see what will be birthed from it.

Blink, and it's still summer, but everything changes.


	4. Smoky

The smoke makes you blink, curling beneath your mask. Grass and trees ripped, torn apart by justified hands made of explosions. You watch them run, suits of finery marred by their own mistakes. The summer sun beats down without any mercy, unlike you - and you watch the only man who accepted your mercy scurry alongside his not-friends.  You almost wonder how Tommy will react. He’s always the loudest, the one with a plan made up on the fly. Their President can make pretty little speeches (and even gave one before their mistakes caught up with them) all he wants, but he can never seem to do  _ anything _ . 

And you think that’s why you don’t like him, and why he will never have your respect.

The earth shifts beneath your feet, hissing and muttering -  _ you have never done this to us, why now _ ? - and you walk silently with your friends. To the place Eret told you to wait. Does he regret this?

Will his crown weigh heavily like yours? Yours, which can never be removed lest you be reviled and die? 

When did you choose your crown?

That memory has never been yours.

You blink again, the smoke still present and -

The air is heavy in this dark bunker, and you hold your sword with some heft. It’s not the same one you sharpened just a few days ago. You almost want to cough from the heaviness of the lingering smoke and the heaviness of this dark bunker.

But all the same, it’ll be used to force them into line.

You hold your breath as voices come closer. Sapnap smiles in the darkness and you always knew him to be the most hungry for chaos, for setting things ablaze and watching it. 

You close your eyes and ready yourself. You don’t blink and you watch as Tommy’s eyes widen.

Did he blink, and miss the moments of peace within his nation?


	5. Youthful Ambition

Really, you don’t think you like seeing others in pain. You like seeing frustration - moments caught in the chase, the hunt, the ambitious movements made in play and competitions. You’re a creature of competition. It brings unity and pain only broadens that which are bloody, oozing wounds. 

But sometimes, it is needed.

And sometimes, you get a kick out of seeing those that make themselves martyrs finally fall.

But sometimes, you do feel bad.

Tommy and his brown-haired friend are good kids. You don’t care about the fox. You really don’t care much for their President. They hold themselves with some wobbling and you all meet in a clearing. The summer air is just as heavy as it was in the bunker, the faint smell of smoke and soot on your tongue, but it’s fresher.

> “Ready to - “ 

You start and are interrupted.

“A duel!” Tommy says with a slight shake, but stands strong. “A duel - if I win, L’Manburg gets our independence; if you win, we disband it.”

Your eyes flicker over to their president. He watches on, their Declaration clutched in his hands like it’s the last thing in a world that is rapidly imploding around him. Or, didn’t it explode? You made it explode. Oh well, self-destruction comes from within - implosion it is. You are silent for a beat too long and Tommy puffs out the air that’s been choking him.

“Unless you’re too scared?”

You want to laugh. One of the few in this world that can make you want to do that, actually. But he cannot see your smile and it should stay that way. You respect the president’s right hand, but not enough to show your face. At least you respect him enough to give him his name in your mind, yes?

> “I agree.” 

You say, and your men stare at you. You, who could simply snap your fingers and their entire world would come down upon their heads. But you respect Tommy, enough to give his little war party some attention. 

> “With our bows.”

“ _I can count paces._ ” Their president pipes up.

Your eyes flick look at him. What kind of leader allows his right-hand to run into a fight that has all the importance of making sure the sun does not implode? What kind of leader makes a sixteen year old his right hand?

Maybe it’s why you’ve never respected him, and why you respect his teenaged lackey. Tommy uses action, instead of idling. He moves and leads the pack. He’s reckless, yes, but at least he does  _ something _ . And still, you accept and you smile at Tommy. This is a fight you have been looking forward to; a one-on-one, with nobody but both of your own wills. You both are escorted and you wonder if he knows this will be his death.  And yet some part of you wants to lose, to give him what he wants after he has fought for it. You want to see what L’Manburg can become, because it keeps itself contained. It gives you something to fight, to argue, to dance with.

So you’re almost sad when he falls to one arrow.

Your men scream and howl like a wicked pack of wolves. There’s nearly no satisfaction in your heart and you nearly turn away. But you watch, carefully, as he holds himself up and stumble walks over to you. The silence that befalls the walkway is deafening and -  _ you remember waking up alone, the silence of your loneliness suffocating and  _ \- you want Tommy to cackle and laugh and run about with his friend.

But he gets close to you and whispers -

“ _ My discs, for our freedom _ .”

And you don’t even question it, even if it is unexpected. Time changes with a blink, and yet you haven’t blinked.

<->-<->

You can't be sure, walking alongside Tommy and holding his discs, who the president is anymore. And when you look at the supposed president, with his son by his side, you think he's wondering the same thing.  He was gone for some time. His right hand man (right hand  _ boy _ you correct yourself), a boy some years his junior, just saved their amusing nation. Does he regret manipulating such a young, such a bright, such a promising boy to fight his fights? Fight his wars, with friends Tommy made better than him? 

Did he blink, and lose time? You have made that mistake too many times to care much anymore.  But he does not live forever. 

Every blink is like a cut to the hand. 

You thought you knew everything about these fickle creatures. But when Tommy runs back, a laugh on his lips, with a proclamation of a party, you watch their president. Jaw set. Eyes darkened with thoughts, stirred up like blood from plucked scabs. 

And you thought you knew that boy. You thought him beyond amusing and just a touch annoying. But he nearly died for his nation, up against you - immortal and undying. There's recklessness to his actions, but you respect him even more. He fought for his beliefs, whilst his leader twiddled his thumbs.  You respect action, not inaction.  Personally, if you were Tommy, you would have simply seized power. He won't live forever. And you've learned, as an immortal who has dealt with mortals for too long, that you have to seize the moment. It won't be around forever. 

You watch them depart, faceless and not so apathetic anymore. They all walk the path back home, and you wonder if he'll dread to blink again. He will, eventually. 

Even you, oh ageless one, blink. 

You blink, and suddenly, they’re gone into their walls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be continuing once the festival happens! I like writing when I have big chunks of inspiration to take from!
> 
> You can expect some nice scenes from Tommy running for VP, getting booted, Dream debating with himself, helping out with the Battle of the Lake and then whatever happens with Vilbur <3


	6. You are explicitly sure of the vast sea

You know you’ve become too attached when you go for walks with Tommy. Most of the time, you go to him and ask. When he isn’t in the embassy, or with his friends (usually, Tubbo), he’s oftentimes snickering to himself and plotting yet another prank. Other times, you find each other in silence at dusk or dawn - moments where the stars are just visible, before becoming bright, or being consumed by the light.  He’s all smiles and beaming teeth, youth brimming. You don’t know how old you are, but he makes you feel old and young all at once - a friend that takes and gives life. Both of you have settled back into friends, after you nearly killed him.

_ No hard feelings, big man. I tried to kill you too, didn’t I? _

You wonder if he just looks up to you, and considers you a friend. So strange that he can so easily cast aside differences and past quarrels simply for friendship. Or was it because you weren’t actively threatening his one true ambition, that he didn’t think you were a threat?  Both options were fascinating and kept you coming back, if not for the shared feelings of kinship you share with the boy. You’ve never felt this protective towards another, not for a long time.

This time, however, Tommy came to you. He looked excited, his tricorn hat clutched with nervous energy in his hands. He paced alongside you with even quicker steps, to the forest in the hills beyond L’Manburg. Past one lake, to a river with a hill and a lake.  It was quiet out here, far past the hustle and bustle of the more settled lands.

And of course, Tommy fills the absence of others with himself - laughing, shouting, running ahead of you. And you keep an ambling pace, hands tucked into your hoodie. It’s early fall now, about a year of L’Manburg and a year of  _ relative _ peace.

“Are you sure you want to go charging into the forest blindly?” You ask out to him with fake disappointment, but smile beneath your mask. 

Tommy waves with an airiness as he takes his sword to ferns and flowers in the forest. 

“There isn’t shit that could take me down, big man.” He grins at you and you smile back, the motion making your mask move - and that makes Tommy’s eyes go wide, he stops and looks at you more. “So there IS a face beneath that mask?”

And again, you give him another shock - another piece of your wall cracked - by laughing. He gapes at you and you laugh even harder. There’s tears in your eyes as you wheeze and laugh, and in turn, Tommy begins to howl with laughter. The seventeen year old laughs with absolute youth and it breathes life into you.  Eventually, both of you regain your senses and shake off the lingering remnants of laughter. The silence rushes back in, the faint chatter of birds and other small creatures alongside it. Everything is painted with faint pinks and yellows, the sun setting on yet another day.

And none of it you have blinked for.

You both stand there, watching the sun set ( _ and you remember that speech you gave to George, wondering somehow - if you die, who will take over as steward? _ ) until Tommy finally speaks.

“Wilbur and I are going to be running an election. Him as President and me as Vice President.” He says, to fill the silence and yet he speaks so naturally it flows with the birds and the other little creatures. He sounds excited, confident - cocky, that youth flowing over again and reminding you why sometimes you can’t respect Tommy fully. And at the same time, you can.

With an eyebrow quirk he can’t see, you sigh.

“I thought you two were already in power?” 

A frown and again, you think Tommy should just seize that position from the President - he would learn fast, you know it. He learned fast what it meant to love a place and its people wholeheartedly. Tommy is nearly just as much a part of this place as you are and you think you’re the only one who sees it.  Damn whatever their President thinks. He hasn’t done enough to warrant his own voice. But you think he has his own affections for Tommy that he won't ever speak his displeasures aloud to the boy who follows him like a wolf pup.

“We’re doing it to  _ consolidate _ power, big man.” Tommy nods to himself, as if it makes any sense. 

The ancient part of you is annoyed, but the more modern part of you - honed by the antics of mortals, honed by time around others - can understand. Who else in L’Manburg cared enough to run; that fox, that woman, the boy just as young as Tubbo now, Tubbo? And yet, wouldn’t it be seen as more benevolent to run and give the illusion of choice?

“And whose plan was it?”

“Wilbur’s.” Tommy says with confidence and awe.

Tommy is too blinded by his closeness to his President to notice the strings wrapped around all of them. Power, control, being on top - Tommy represented a useful resource of propaganda to be let go.

Tommy was the glittering jewel and it seemed his President was eager to wear him, to show the rest of L’Manburg that he had  _ Tommy Innit _ on his side. How bad could he be as a President if  _ Tommy Innit _ was his second-hand man?  That ancient part of you wishes you could make Tommy see what dark path he’s being led down. That modern part of you is too quailed to speak, because you respect him enough - misplaced, because you should say something.

Instead, you say - 

> “Well, good luck to you both. I don’t know if I’ll be able to vote but you have my support.”   
> 

And Tommy beams at that, hands raised as he lets out a whoop of cheer.

“Our first endorsement!”

You sigh. You scratch at the back of your head.

You blink, and they’re playing tinny tunes and there’s three extra parties.

_. . . _

_ (when did that goat come back _ ?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actually got inspired for this one real quick, will dive more into election stuff roughly next week or the end of the month!


	7. At the Tomb of Napoleon Before the Elections in America

Tommy holds himself carefully, walking back from his and Tubbo’s bench. The sun was high in the sky, and all of his usual cocky youth has fled for the hills. To watch, wait, wonder - will this be the last time he walks his Prime Path as Vice President? The spiky, handcrafted charm - Phukit - lays heavy in his jacket pocket. 

A reminder of a friend that would never leave his side.

He can hear the tinny brass music played by the band long before he reaches the pavilion. Banners and flags flap in the wind, various pins and pennants creating a near overwhelming ocean of color. Tommy clenches his fist, seeing Quackity chatter excitedly with George, Schlatt relaxed and most likely sleeping at the top of the podium (and was it fair that Dream’s friend got to run? All three of them weren’t even L’Manburgians). And he doesn’t feel much anger towards Fundy or Niki - if anybody, besides him and Wilbur, had any inkling of right to run, it was them.

A quick tug at the collar of his shirt and Tommy advances towards the podium. The people of the SMP and L’Manburg talk amongst themselves, a sea of faces of which he could only pick out a few. Badboyhalo, Skeppy, Sapnap, Punz, Ponk, Purpled all milled about, their own pennants and ribbons pinned to their clothes. Nervousness was awash over him and their colors blurred as he turned resolutely towards the podium once more.

He was stalling, and that knowledge was like an iron grip on his heart.  
And really, he was going to walk up that podium and give one last speech and try not to fall apart, but somebody stopped his plans.

“Tommy,” A voice somehow not quiet, reaches out to him. “You have a backup plan?”

Tommy looks to Dream, mask ominous in the dark of the shade of the podium. Something about that sentence chills him to the bone, but the warmth of the afternoon pushes that dread from his body. It might only be momentary, it might only be a false feeling, but it was all he had in that moment.

“What do you mean?” He pushes out with false confidence, voice wavering yet still firm - but he knows Dream can pierce right through that, and so he pats down more confidence. “We’ve got the love and support of everybody.”

Even if this got turned from a L’Manburg election to a “everybody and their fucking dog”’s election.

Dream tilts his head and for all of the time he’s spent, and the respect he has, it still makes Tommy want to run for the hills alongside his cockiness. The heat of the sun is getting to him, even in the shade and he’s burning beneath this weird God’s gaze (because that’s what everybody whispers when Dream comes along, his simple presence enough to make people beg for his assistance).

“You should always have a backup plan.” Dream says simply and leans against the wooden supports.

“We have Tubbo’s bunker.” Tommy supplies, and he nervously adjusts his hat, then reaches into his pocket for his speech paper and Phukit. “And again, we’ll win. I know it.”

Dream tilts his head again and Tommy scrapes his feet against the ground.

“I’ll be watching.” He doesn’t wait to finish his sentence before he’s turning, gone with the wind and a blink.

Tommy lets out a gasp of air that had been choking him. He pulls out his paper with his speech, reciting the words in his head as he steps up.

I’ve been a citizen of L’Manburg since its birth. I am a child of her graceful walls, and today, I hope to stand and take our mother’s hand and lead her into a grand new future. . . .

Tommy blinks and he’s watching Schlatt and Quackity and George winning. The crowd mutters around them and Wilbur watches on in silence. He tries to rouse his President (because Schlatt was never a L’Manburgian, because he calls himself an Emperor, because he’s banishing Wilbur and Tommy from their country and because this thought is too long) and they’re running into the walls that had once meant sanctuary.

Wilbur is shot. The flames curl at his skin, and he screams with the intensity of a man who just lost his home, his people, his very being. Wilbur stumbles, and tears off into the woods, whilst Tommy runs into the bunker. Swims and runs and cries - tears and snot on his face as he scrabbles for a way to get out. A rat in the maze, with his friend told to kill him. Tommy is shot with fear as he swims to the surface of the lake he’s dug himself out into. Wilbur scrambles up onto the lake’s shore, a wail at his lips and Tommy is speechless.

Tommy thinks about Dream, and wonders if he saw all of this far more clearly than Tommy had?

Tommy tries to blink away the tears and sweat and water, as he pulls himself and Wilbur from the lake’s waters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes from writing -
> 
> Autocorrect is DEAD SET on making L'Manburg into HAMburg.  
> Dream says I wanna tell you to be careful, but I know you're still a little frightened of me?
> 
> Anyhow, will be writing as I get inspo and as events unfold! Fundy's refurbished podium is looking good, but is for a group of people who don't want to be seen as the bad guys, they built the most 90s villain looking set piece.


	8. There are no stars tonight/But those of memory.

Tommy is only seventeen, and yet he feels ageless. And not in the cool way he thinks Dream must be.

They find two ravines to settle into. Tommy licks his wounds. He watches Wilbur shed his L’Manburg uniform within a week. It’s damp here, but they try to make the best of it. Tommy tries to sing songs they’d made, all together. Odes and winding lyrical pieces that were meant for more than two people. 

And Wilbur never seemed to want to sing, anyways.

But they worked to make a new home. Wilbur was bitter, Wilbur was angry, Wilbur was hopeful in his own ways. Even if he was more snippy and Tommy kept his distance. He fished and he ran around the woods.  And Tommy came to a startling observation - these were the same woods, the same lake and hill, the same river, that he and Dream would often walk through. He clambered up top trees and clung to them like he always would with Tubbo, to check on his friend’s bees.

The memory is almost painful enough to blind him, but still he forces himself to look.

And the sight of a L’Manburg finally makes him cry. Makes him cry, but he doesn’t want to show Wilbur - Tommy is his right hand man, he’s supposed to be strong and unending in the fact that they’re stateless, that most of their friends would either ignore, shun or try to kill them.

( _ But never Tubbo. Tubbo, who rolled his eyes playfully when Tommy would scream in fake horror at his bees. Tubbo, who laughed with Tommy around a fire while eating pilfered baked goods. Tubbo, who looked horrified and who had been ordered to kill them, but hadn’t gone after them _ .  _ Tubbo, who gave him Phukit that still pokes into his side in his old, crusty and dirty L’Manburg uniform jacket _ ).

He has nobody, except for Wilbur.

Tommy sinks to the ground when he fumbles down the tree. The silence rushes back in, the faint chatter of birds and other small creatures alongside it. Everything is painted with faint pinks and yellows, the sun setting on yet another day. His sobs won’t pierce his loneliness, even as he thinks he hears footsteps.

He blinks, and there’s a figure in front of him.

<->-<->

You only feel a coil of anger - hot, burning, like a coal from a bonfire dropped in the midst of a wildfire - as you watch the pavilion’s old flags of L’Manburg are taken down.  _ You _ hold no love, but the one who did was close. And for that, you’re angry. And for other reasons, you’re pissed off. That goat (which you will be reminded again, and again, and again, that he is a ram; and which you won’t care enough to correct yourself), with his human faces and his goat ears and his curling horns. He slurs through his first, then his second, decrees - and the rage within you burns more and more.

You blink, and those walls are gone.

Perhaps you’ve grown too sentimental. Perhaps you’ve spent too much time around mortals, those who don’t bleed with a sword’s edge, with an arrow’s tip or an axe’s cleaving side. Perhaps, you’ll think alone as you stalk into the woods you know those two ran into, you’ve grown soft.

But no, you think - you care for your friends, you care for what makes you feel at peace, you care for what makes the silence and the loneliness of those first few blinks of an eye go away. And Tommyinnit and his antics and his friends (maybe, to a degree, their President - would Tommyinnit ever have thought to start his own nation the way L’Manburg had? But you still won’t respect him, never, ever - something about him unnerves, and annoys, you). 

You walk into the woods with a gift, heavy and yet not. Heft has never bothered you in the material sense - a heavy stone the same as a bird’s feather. A gift for the boy you know lies within these woods and if he isn’t, if your pull towards the place you spent countless hours following him through the woods as he chattered like a pent up bird is wrong, then you’ll eat your hat. 

And then you’ll start stabbing shit (and you chuckle to yourself at the memory of Tommy teaching you that one).

You walk and walk and walk and - honestly, you could walk forever, but something catches your ear. You tilt your head in the quiet of the forest and find that, alongside the easy noises of the environment, is another sound that slips so easily with it.

A quiet sob, a stifled sniffle and you know you’ve found your friend. And within a few steps, you see him. The forest parts around him, as if in a silent respect and it strikes you for a second, something you will need to ponder over later you think to yourself, before you shake your head. You have a gift and you wait for Tommy to look up, somehow feeling awkward and an urge to comfort the boy.

He stares at you before he speaks, voice cracked by - something… You think it might be grief.

That, you can understand to a degree: losing your home and every memory with it is unreachable.

“Dream…? What are you doing here?”

There’s an underlying suspicion there and you can’t blame him, really.

“I have a gift.” You tell him, before hefting your heavy gifts to the forest floor for him to appraise. “Armor, weapons, supplies and other useful things.”

Tommy looks at you, before reaching over slowly. When you don’t do whatever he thinks you’ll do, he takes them and stands. The armor goes on slowly and then he waves the sword about, testing it in his hand.  You wonder if he’ll question why you’re giving this gear to  _ him _ and not his President. You almost want him too, so you can go down your list of talking points you’ve been rattling around in your brain. It’s something you remember the ones giving speeches before the election and during that fateful day did.  But he says nothing, that youthful exuberance spilling over as he grins behind the wicked face of the Netherite helmet.

“This is some cool shit, Dream!” He swings the sword at a tree and it cuts into, and slides out, easily. 

The thanks is unsaid, but Dream knows that Tommy is thankful for how he jumps up and down easily in the wicked looking armor, how he cuts and cleaves and looks so much different from a few minutes ago.  And if Tommy looked like that before Dream cheered him up, he almost dreaded how their President is doing.

You almost ask, before Tommy stops abruptly, as if a thought came over him.

“How’s Tubbo?” He asks eagerly, with a sense of apprehension. “Is he - ?”

“As far as I’m aware, he’s doing fine.” Yeah, you really should check up on him? There’s a faint voice chastising you for this. “Next time I can visit… I can - “

“You’ll bring him?!” Tommy finishes for you, eyes wide and bright and glittering and you nod apprehensively. You’ll try.

“And how’s.... Wilbur? Can I speak to him?” You ask and Tommy nods, no sign of apprehension or faltering look. “Just some ideas. Or council.”

Really, you want to gauge how easily this little rebellion will fumble - because right now, Tommy is too devoted to take a stand if Wilbur was too weak. And some part of you does want to see L’Manburg back, if only it could mean Tommy in head and Wilbur not.

Tommy nods in thought, before he sheathes his new sword.

“Right this way, big man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dialogue heavy most likely next chapter and maybe some hints to some revelations, even for Dream?! :3c
> 
> Chapter Notes -  
> Yes, I am skipping around in timeline (not non-linear, more like changing when things happened or if they even happened bc wtf was the Ninja thing in terms of story???). Not the worst thing I could do.  
> HAMburg strikes again so I've finally pressed two buttons to add L'Manburg to my gdocs dictionary lol


	9. My friends forsake me like a memory lost:/I am the self-consumer of my woes

Their President definitely had done the decorating. Or at least, definitely not Tommy - the boy who enjoyed his… coaster. The ugly eye sore that only stayed because Tommy would have gone through Hell and high water to keep it standing. And because you’re sure the others have a certain fondness for the boy - but does that extend from the goat and his subordinates?

And for all your affection for the boy, you think you'll be taking it down or making it look better. Whatever comes first and whatever strikes your fancy.    


Still, the ravine can almost be called cozy. Chains with lanterns, niches carved into the walls with beds and chests and an ender chest - one of the things that whispers to you and one of the things you try to avoid the most. Tommy has already run to what you can guess is his niche, the loud rattling of armor being put away ringing out into the enclosed space. 

And just like a bell, it draws out others.

“So, Dream, you’ve finally decided to deign us with your presence?” Their President has a grimace on his face and you’re sure if he wasn’t so tired, there’d be a sneer to his voice. “After you let  _ him _ back.”

Bitterness and anger and exhaustion swirls like a cloud around the man, his eyes two pits of darkness. It catches you off guard and honestly, you don’t know why you hadn’t stopped the goat from returning - time had simply smeared together. You scratch the back of your head, feeling a little out of your depth as he continues on. Closer and closer, his footsteps ring through the ravine right alongside Tommy’s excited movements nearby.

“You allow  _ him _ , he who was not even of L’Manburg, to run in a last minute pitch! He took  _ our _ nation from me!” He hisses and you feel a hitch of nervousness as he stands only a few feet from you.

Honestly, you could get rid of him.

But something inside of you wants to do it differently this time, so maybe he'll stay gone for good.

And something else, so close to him - that same  _ pull _ you had with Tommy. But this pull was wrong, not the same, twisted and turned into something not right. You want this President gone, in a sudden primal anger.

Instead, you sigh and shake your head.

“I don’t run L’Manburg. I let you all have it, remember?”   
  
“After you nearly killed Tommy!” His eyes narrow, and that affection that was buried by his rage seeps through. You feel a certain kinship in this moment. 

But you hadn’t nearly killed Tommy, but you close your eyes, begging for an answer to be given to you.

> ( _ He wheezed into your ear, holding onto you for dear life, and whispered his deal. And now he wasn’t stumbling without assistance back into the walls of his nation, he was carried by their President and yet he still called out for a party, all the while he bled from his stomach _ .)

You open your eyes and look off to the side, as if you’re admiring the decor. 

Time smeared together in a blink of an eye.

And you often remembered it the way you wanted.

A sigh escapes your lips as their President does too. It’s obvious he’s feeling like a trapped animal, caught in a ravine while its hunters circle overhead. You’ve often been that hunter, strong and on top - but now, you’ve lowered yourself down to the prey’s level and found yourself annoyed by it.

“Yes, I did, but I want to help you all now.” You gesture towards where Tommy has gone. “I’ve given him armor and weapons, and supplies for you all to use.”

You hope Tommy won’t share that book you wrote, buried deep in the bag of supplies you gave, too - ideas that rattled in your head put to paper and none of which you want shared with this President that draws you in too much. 

“That’s all well and good, but do you have a plan?” The President who always went with Tommy’s plans asks. “We’re currently rabbits stuck in their warrens right now.”

Tommy picks that moment to come out, footsteps jittery - his nervousness forgotten in the wake of powerful gifts. A hopeful, helpful hand up in a fight that seemed squared against him. It makes you smile, and Tommy knows what the smile you give looks like. He grins before he finally speaks.

“I had an idea!” He claps his hands together, a devious look on his face as he paces. “We already have one God on our side, so I was thinking, why not two?”

Their President stares at Tommy, as if in deep thought. And you’re stuck wondering a bevy of things, but most importantly, you’re the only God on this server. That if there was more than one, wouldn’t that… mess with things?

So eloquent, oh undying one.

“Tommy, do you mean -”

“Yeah, that thing that brought -”

Their President looks less than pleased and stops Tommy from speaking more. And you’re left wondering what you’ve been left out of. He stoops to whisper in his right-hand’s ear and Tommy listens with diligence, before he whispers back.  You feel awkward, yet again feeling like a secret is being held back from you.

“Then we’ll do it next time Tubbo visits.” Their President suddenly looks at you, eyes softened and you already know he’s going to try and sweeten you with words and dealings. 

“I’m already bringing him the next time I visit.” You assure them and scratch the back of your head. “Is there anything he needs to bring?”

“The book.” He says and Tommy nods his ascent. “Just the  _ book _ . He’ll know what it means.”

An inside… joke? Dream really did feel out of his depth - for all his friendships, he’d never held them too close to be so easily intertwining vague phrases to concrete ideas. You nod and make that mental note. You need to be quick, or you need to be sneaky.

“Then I’ll get to that.” You say and suddenly feel as if their President wants you out of his ravine. “Within the next few days, at least. Be ready.”

He nods, but Tommy scurries over, all youthful hopefulness in his eyes to contrast the pits of despair that have found themselves home in their President’s face. 

“Thank you, really, Dream.” He says it so earnestly - no nicknames, no wavering, no jokes. He’s truly serious here. “And good luck out there.”

It’s almost humorous - you, the lone God of these lands, fearful of mortal made weaponry and hatred? 

But still, you nod and pat him on the shoulder.

“And thank you Tommy, for being a good sport. And good luck to you… both, too.” You chuckle at his grin and he nods eagerly, before he returns to his President’s side.

He watches you leave, all the while, and you feel that pull towards them both wane as you reach the surface. Something is different, now that you’ve stood next to him without your threats choking the air.

And it’s something you aren’t sure how to feel about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoy! 
> 
> Just some thoughts I had, but what would the general consensus be on an ending? :) A few dead, some dead, nobody dies but they're gone through other means? My feelings might change depending on what happens Friday, but for now I need a feeling haha.
> 
> Anyhow, thank you guys for reading!


	10. It launch’d forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself,/Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.

“They’re … still alive?” Tubbo asks, curious and yet so hopeful. The library you’re both standing in feels a little too suffocating to you, but you can’t quite place why. “I thought…”

“Yeah, they’re fine.” 

But you remember how their faces looked - how Tommy cried - how lost and angry and desperate their President looked - and it becomes a little harder to assign _fine_ to them. Perhaps a degree of _crashing and burning_ was a far more apt description.

“And they asked for me to bring a _book_ ?” And already, he’s flicking through old tomes you didn’t think even existed, but then again, this world had been around long _before_ you. “Hmm…”

Tubbo disappears around a corner of shelving, leaving you at the junction. For the first time, you take in the distant lecterns and the books upon them; you can recognize the ones that had been carried around by L’Manburgians. You really hope he won’t ask for kind of book that was asked after, and then you’d have to hike back to their base and then -

“I have it right here.” His head peeked from around the corner he’d disappeared around.

You hide your sigh of relief as he holds up a tome that seemed to beckon you quietly, a muffled sound in the back of your head that was always present when you lingered near enchanting tables. The words scrawled across it feel _familiar_ , but none of it makes sense and you look at Tubbo curiously. Were they familiar because they were the same ones used with the enchanting tables and their secrets? 

What kind of God were you?

_A very lazy and competitive one, it seemed._

“What’s it say?” You scratch your head and he gives you a curious look back, as if to ask _out of everybody, wouldn’t you know already_? “And what’s it even for?”

Again, you get the same look and you huff out, feeling awkward. You forgot how odd it was to interact with mortals you weren’t entirely knowing of. And Tubbo had always been a strange one, even if you had burnt down his house - so sweet and nice, but just as ready as Tommy to absolutely lose it at the drop of a hat.

“It’s a… a book.” Tubbo stuffed it into his rucksack with a _totally_ reassuring smile and you wonder if he won’t tell you, because you don’t already know - that if you didn’t know, that meant Tommy hadn’t told you. “We found it a little after we came to these lands.”

“That’s right, you and Tommy came together, didn’t you?” Nobody really ever knew how they ended up in the lands they did - a surefire fact that you had gotten from speaking with others. “Well, hopefully this book will help us.”

Tubbo nods, but stops suddenly and you tilt your head. He shuffles his feet and coughs nervously.

“What?”

“Well, Schlatt made me Secretary of State… and I’m supposed to be helping with something.” Tubbo looked at you and frowned. “I want to come along but -”

“Leave a note. Make an excuse. I’ll back you.” You hope you have _some_ sway with the goat, that Tubbo’s alibi will carry weight because of your presence. You’re the God of these lands, and that must still mean _something_.

There’s a primal, ancient, angry part of you that just wants to make this all blow up in their faces - stop this in its tracks, before it can become something more, something out of control. You clench your jaw and shift on your feet and Tubbo visibly flinches and steps back.

You rein yourself in as he speaks carefully.

“Okay, I’ll do that. But we’ll need to be quick, but I don’t expect what Tommy wants me to do will take long.” He says it so easily, that you suspect they’ve done this before. But what is it? You get a quick peek into his bag as he pulls out a quill with ink and a piece of paper - candles, salt or sugar bags and the book he put in earlier.

Your eyes narrow behind your mask. You recognized those materials from a ritual George had tried to perform so long and had accidentally summoned in Badboyhalo - the only thing he remembered was his name and the name of another friend. A feeling inside of you wants to ask, but ultimately Tubbo might not know and you’d just end up scaring him.

Better a question to ask Tommy.

“Alright, done.” He sets it on an open desk, and you note the faint scratches in the wooden surface - _TUBBOAT!! TUBBOX! WE DIDN’T START THE FIRE!_ \- with pictures of bees and fire and a boat marred into the surfaces. Signs of a time gone for now. Signs of change that will never come with a blink of an. Signs of change that make one ache for the past.

_(Are you feeling nostalgic, one endless one? You who burned and stabbed and shot - you who never cared for the change of time? How can you be yearning for what was, when you facilitated that change?)_

You catch the fond look on Tubbo’s face and decide that yes, you both should be carrying on. It felt wrong to keep them both separated. 

“Let’s head out.”

<->-<->

“TUBBO!” The cry rattled the entire ravine and even you flinched. “You came!”

Tubbo beamed and raced forward to meet his friend into a gripping hug. You watched on with curiosity, and felt a pleasant warmth spread from your heart. So good to see friends back together, even you knew that. And their President lingers in the back, watching but not interrupting - and you don’t miss the fond smile and look in his eyes.

Eventually, they pry themselves from each other and Tubbo pulls out the book. Tommy grabs for it, tilting it in his hands and looking much more invested in it than his friend was. And then their President steps forward and appraises the book, before he nods.

“Good work, Tubbo.” He pats the boy on the shoulder, before nodding towards his bag. “You have the other supplies, yeah?”

Your suspicions are affirmed when Tubbo nods. “Yeah, everything we need to summon somebody. We should get somebody good if we say why we need ‘em.”

Their President looks at you and you nod. He sighs and you do too - summoning under your nose seemed like their plan beforehand, but you guess you’ve wiggled your way in. You really don’t know much about summoning, beyond the reading George had done. It usually meant calling out to another being, whether consciously or unconsciously. Agreements were hazy but Bad had agreed to stay and nothing had hurt him yet - so you guessed they had to agree to stay for it to be permanent.

Which made you wary.

“Do you know specifically who we’re summoning?” You butt in, a frown behind your mask and their President’s eyes twinkle with a hidden laugh. “Because I don’t want to summon randoms into  _ my _ lands.”

Both Tommy and Tubbo make a face at that, and their President chuckles to himself.

“Well… about that, big man.” Tommy waves his hands around, a youthful cocky grin on your face. “This isn’t the first time we’ve done this!”

Tubbo nods, picking up Tommy’s sentence. “We uh - well, we summoned Wilbur!” 

You stare at both of the boys (and was Tubbo really a boy anymore? Was Tommy?). Staring until they both cow, their heads turned away and Tommy scrapes his feet against the ground.

“Why?” You demand, voice just a bit more high pitched. “Why, without my permission?”

“We just wanted to know what would happen!” Tubbo pleads and Tommy nods, ever the annoying and high-energy cheerleader. “We didn’t think anything would happen.”

“You opened a book inscribed with runes, read it, decided it sounded fun and -”   
  
“We got  _ Wilbur _ out of it!” Tommy says. “And that’s the best gift, amiright?”

Tommy backs off when your gaze settles on him, but you decide to let it go. 

“It’s fine, just don’t do it without my supervision.” You hiss and both of the boys nod vigorously, their President watching. “I don’t like things being tweaked within  _ my _ lands.”

Tommy makes another face, but their President steps in. “I believe we should set up the summoning area?”

All three of you echo in agreement, Tubbo quick to work. Candles were set, Wilbur helped with the design and Tommy… supervised. He twisted his pufferfish charm in his hand, thinking. You watch, supervising too, until the circle is finished. Intricate patterns settled carefully on the stone floor. 

Tubbo steps back, book in hand, silently reciting the words. Tommy rubs his hands, and he looks excited. 

“Anybody know what we’ll use as an offering?” He asks and you think he may just be wanting to go and hunt something with the weapons you gave him; how much use has he gotten out of them already? “Or will the candles work for now?”

“Depends on how they react to the summoning.” Tubbo says. “Wilbur was pretty receptive, so there wasn’t much in the way for him.”

You can hear Tommy muttering about  _ stabbing shit _ before Tubbo takes a deep breath. 

The words he speaks are so dimly familiar, you can only pull out a few phrases from a gut memory.

> _ You are needed. _
> 
> _ Your presence is needed. _
> 
> _ Hear our words, heed them _ .

The rest are vague, unknowing and make your head hurt. Their President and Tommy seem to mirror it, as Tubbo seems to be coming to an end. But, nothing has happened. Tubbo frowns, their President simply watches on and Tommy looks about ready to go into a tirade about something, when -

Light burns your eyes and you look away. Tommy and Tubbo follow, but their President is too far to see. You’re intimately aware of a new presence and you turn to look. There, standing before you all, is a  _ piglin _ ? His tusks jut up and out, a royal cloak (not much unlike Eret’s) and a wicked sword on his hip.

And something  _ pulls _ you in, so much like Tommy and their President. 

And it’s something you aren’t sure how to feel about.

He looks around, looking at you and their President the longest, before he huffs out.

**“I have answered your call.”** Tubbo holds his breath as the piglin's rumbles. **“And I agree to stay as long as I am needed to overthrow the present installed government.”**

Tommy looks at Tubbo with mild confusion, but he shrugs with a nervous frown. “I needed something to hook in a call!”

Their President, however, laughs quietly.  “I don’t fully trust you, but we need you.”

The piglin looks at him, a faint smile playing on his face. 

**“I knew it’d be interesting when I felt your presence, Wilbur.”**

And now you feel even more like you’re out of the loop.

Their President waves a hand, smiling now. “Don’t worry. We’ve got a place for you to stay. I’m sure you’re resourceful to get your own armor.”

And away they went, leaving you and the boys.

“So, how’d I do?” Tubbo asks with a laugh and Tommy laughs alongside him.

You aren’t laughing. But you try to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're ever curious, yes the last few (and most likely the rest of) chapter titles have been poem lines. I get them from just skimming over random poems! 
> 
> Tracklist for this chapter has been all of Bastille's 2013 album Bad Blood and Tally Hall's 'Ruler of Everything'. 
> 
> And thank you guys for any feedback on the last chapter! :3c
> 
> Techno's going back to his potatos once he's done with anarchy, he's the only one with a set-in-stone fate.


	11. Juno was mad, he knew he'd been had/So he shot at the sun with a gun

You split your time up between the new (nation? commune?) Pogtopia and your more consolidated lands. You have friends in both, and both require your attention. Dealings with your lands, issues to help smooth over in Pogtopia. A horse is acquired, and you make it as stealthy as possible. Always at night, sometimes at dusk. Never more than three days at a time, and sometimes with Tubbo. 

Days settle into weeks, and the Pogtopians plan. Swords, armor, food - all gathered in secrecy, as their trump card idles. 

You still don’t have a good read on him, and it drives you batty.

Apparently, the one they summoned is named  _ Technoblade (a name that scratches at the back of your head, begging you to remember - yet, nothing, except for faint memories of swords upon shields upon axes and you can only chalk that up to the fact that he seems to embody war) _ . He walks with purpose, although he’s rather quiet and it unnerves you. What is he hiding? And when Tubbo asks him what he does in other dimensions, he sharpens his blade and gives a knowing smile to their President. 

War. You guess he causes war - why else would he answer a call to incite a rebellion, to fuel it with blood? And it makes you even more wary - that he'll cause a war that'll spill up and out and everywhere. But he's their best bet to further plans to wrestle control from the goat and his cabinet. The goat who is,  _ arguably _ , doing better at his ruling (even if most of it was being enacted by those who weren’t him or half of his cabinet). But you don’t care for him - the goat breaks treaties and promises made in good faith and broke down the walls; you care for Tommy and some of those he cares for.

And he wants his home back.

Personally, you'd have a more personal touch and simply kill the emperor while he stands to make a speech. And Tommy often agrees, all fuming and angry. Their President tries to still him, but it's far less gentling as it had been. 

_ Quiet, Tommy. I have plans, you need to listen to them _ . 

So Tommy spends more time with you, or Tubbo when he comes with. He's restless and upset and so many other things, you can tell, and at first you think it's wholly because of the fact they're stuck in a ravine. That he's been booted from his own nation so cruelly. That he should've still been Vice President of L'Manburg and that they should still have their walls and that so many other things that are gone from them are still with them.

And yet, he surprises you just a little, when you both are sitting by the nearby river. 

"Wilbur's gotten more of an asshole." Tommy throws a stone across the broad surface of the river, watching it sink. "He liked my summoning idea, but that's all the credit he's given me."

You purse your lips in thought. There's no denial that their relationship was so much like brothers, and that their President did hold affection for his right-hand. But for Tommy to so candidly and boldly speak of his mentor, his brother and his father figure all in one? Something is wrong and you aren't sure if you can help or if you even want to.

"It's probably stress." You offer, so sure and yet so unsure. 

Tommy nods and runs a thumb along the top of a pebble. "Yeah, true. But I'm just as stressed as him and I haven’t gotten so snappy.” He huffs and you just nod - unsure of what to say, really. 

You’ve never been good at expression - anger, neutrality, making jokes were what you knew best. Consorting with mortals was relatively new to you, with ones you hadn’t held close to you for years that made jokes that never quite hit. But Tommy was different and it brought some comfort to you.

“Just… keep Tubbo close?” You offer. “Wilbur cares for you. Even I see that. You’re his right-hand.”

That brings a beaming smile to his face, and you almost want to tell him ( _ time after time after time after -) _ that he’s using him, to some degree. Tommy is all loud and proud charisma, youth that waits for nobody even if it grates on everybody’s nerves. He can sway a group to do the dumbest things, but his occasional recklessness erodes that. But when their President tells him what to do (and sometimes, even without), Tommy is a force to be reckoned with.

A shining jewel for him to wear, to show to L’Manburg and beyond, that he is a legitimate ruler. That he isn’t all idling thoughts and bumbling actions.

And once again, you think Tommy should seize power for himself.

“Thanks, big man.” He says it with an earnest tone and you smile from behind your mask.

If he was your ruler ( _ as if you’d follow anybody but yourself _ ) you’d be proud.

<->-<->

“I need to ask you something.”

The voice draws you from your lull of sharpening your sword, your face turning towards their President. He stands tall, but a slight hunch to his shoulders suggests a deeper meaning. You guess being stuck in a hole (because you’ve never seen him leave, unlike Tommy or the piglin) has worn down on him. His shores eroded to the passage of time, with a blink of an eye - gone. You almost want to suggest he get some fresh air, or to see the sun (he’s paler than a sheet), but you just nod your head and he begins to speak.

So dramatic, you grumble to yourself, everything has to be theatrics.

“I do want to say my thanks for helping us.” He twists his hands but a small smile plays on his lips. “In our darkest moments, you have shot and killed us, and you have given  _ Tommy _ supplies and armor and weapons. I just need to know you’ll back us no matter what happens.”

You nod idly, because you will - Tommy wants L’Manburg back, and you like him and Tubbo and at this point, why not? L’Manburg kept to themselves and kept their promises.

“I need to reiterate -  _ no matter what happens _ .” Their President catches your gaze and you’re caught in that vortex, swirling at the edge of something deeper and darker and more desperate.

So much like an animal caught in the corner, ready to use anything at their disposal.

Again, you nod. “Anything. It gets the job done, it’s worth it.”

Their President smiles and you tilt your head, trying to catch his eyes again, if only to see if anything can be extracted from those glittering pits. 

“Three of us, together - they’ll eat their words.” He says confidently and you wonder who he’s talking about - him, you and Tommy? Him, Tommy and the piglin? “We’ll show them all.”

You shrug and go back to your sword ( _ if only to stop the pull and the urge to push him _ ) as Tommy comes running down the stairs. He’s going on about something as their President meanders over to speak with him.

You’re ready for whatever comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO WHO'S READY FOR TOMORROW??? Hopefully I don't miss much because I have Work from 1-3 :(
> 
> Anyhow, thing's are ramping up - next chapter will be the epic Battle For Henry (fuck you Sapnap) and then maybe a chapter or two of nice tommy and tubbo interactions, and then Wilbur really losing his nut (spam plays Tally Hall's Ruler of Everything for that chapter). Also want to say that I will probably be doing a supplemental series of one-shots from this series that aren't from Tommy and Dream's POVs - which I will do once I conclude with this one! So expect to see stuff from Wilbur, Tubbo, Schlatt's and probably Eret's POVs! :D They won't be in chrono order and will most likely just be written as inspo hits me. 
> 
> Chapter title is from Ruler of Everything by Tally Hall (which is quickly becoming my theme for this fic :3c).
> 
> Thank you all for reading and have fun tomorrow with the streams xoxo


	12. Murder lives forever/And so does war

Perhaps it would be you eating your words. You really weren’t ready for an absolutely despondent, sobbing and wailing Tommy to greet you as you returned to the ravine. His eyes are a storm of rage and it draws you in, begging you to answer. A fight is brewing in his shaking hands as he speaks slowly.

"Niki… she, she told me they killed Henry.” He shakes and you think he might explode, like that swirling vertex and you let him draw you in. “We made him a grave, but I want revenge.”

“Who was it?” You egg him on, eager to see his strength and power in action. Always action, with words and power behind them; you want him to be ahead of the pack. “Who did it?

He pulls himself up, you see it in the way his shoulders stop their hunch of grief and shift into a firm stance. “Niki, she told me it was Sapnap and his friend, Karl.”

Another one you had overseen summoned. You nod and motion for him to continue.

“The other night, I took a book of theirs. It was stupid and I thought it’d be funny. But then they found out and went to get Henry - they killed him!” His hisses and you nod, eager for his reaction because it’s so much better than the idling President and you’d help Tommy do whatever it took for him to prove himself.

“Well, what do you want to do?” You prod him forward with your words, feeling that pull within him drawing you in, and in, and in. He wants a fight.

And you’re in his corner. It gives him the extra bravado for his eyes to glimmer and you grin.

“We’ll make them eat their words. We could even get Techno to help us.” He looked over at a ledge, the faint sounds of snoring finally filling your ears. “We’ll scare ‘em into being sorry.”

That makes you curious - you gave him that gear and those weapons and that book declaring your allegiance to bolster his confidence to  _ fight _ . But here he is, with the implication of words. You aren’t afraid of fighting, and as you think about it, Tommy has never been one to fight by himself. 

He takes the founding of L’Manburg to heart - words, not war, and if pushed to fight he would much rather fight as a unit.

It makes you realize that you and him are very different. And yet, you let that care fade away like dust in hand in the face of a gusty wind. You’ll get a fight, even if it might be against one of your oldest friends. Even if it might fully expose what side you’ve got your allegiances with - there’s action, and you’ve grown close to Tommy.

A pull that hypnotizes you, so that you nod.

“I’ve got the gear to help.” You agree and Tommy grins with understanding.

"Yo!! Techno!" Tommy calls out, the sound bouncing on the walls of the ravine. "Wanna stab some people?"

There's only a singular snort, before a reply is given. 

"When don't I?"

<->-<->

Chases always make you feel as if you're flying. The winds nipping at your exposed fingers and whipping through your hair. Your horse clips at a speed you hadn’t thought possible, but the piglin seems to be an expert at identifying good stock. Cries of war echo throughout the forest, and Tommy rides at your side on his skeleton steed.

The fighters converge, circling on horses and mules, around a lake. A hideous monument (most likely of Tommy’s creation) marks the area and for any travelers who came by. With just you and Tommy and Niki (who had joined in the race here, freed by Tommy’s diversion, sweaty and scared), it almost seems helpless. 

But you and Tommy know better.

“Sapnap!” Tommy calls out, his horse’s eyeless head shifting and making the motion to eat. “You might have more gear than us, may outnumber us and… yeah! But! We have something you don’t!”

Your friend stares at you and you know he's realized your position. Near him, but far away enough - you've drawn the line.

"And what is that, Tommy?" He calls out, a sneer at the tip of his tongue. 

You can hear the sound of hooves drawing closer and faster. 

And before you know it -

"We have the BLADE!" Tommy says, giddy youth overfilling.

You blink, and you're in the heat of it all. 

This fight is nearly over in another blink, but an arrow sings through the air and embeds itself in your shoulder. Flesh is rendered mortal, just for a moment - and you think, this must be what the thing Sapnap explained to you: karma. 

You falter for a second and Tommy let's out an angry cry. He angles his skeleton horse to lead you into denser foliage. It makes you feel… something. A gentle affection, so unused by your calloused and war-worn hands.

Tommy is harsh words, but he is untested by war. You are all sharp edges and war, but you are untested by true kindness.

Even though the wound heals up quickly when you pry the arrow from your body, you nod your thanks. The sounds of battle die away and only the victorious cry of the piglin bellows through the forest. Tommy grins and pats you on your uninjured shoulder, calling out for his compatriots. In the brief silence that follows, Tommy looks at you with a quiet eye.

“Thanks, big man, for helping us.” He says. “It meant a lot. And we looked awesome!”

You nod and grin and ruffle the boy’s hair with a physical affection you’ve rarely shown.

And it means the world to the boy, from how he grins.

…

The piglin sizes you up, as you both recuperate. You try not to look at him too long, that pull drawing you in just a degree of disorienting. Tommy has long gone to bed, a healing potion in his belly and bandages, but you and the piglin didn't need much. 

"You really haven't gotten it yet, huh?" He asks you suddenly, and not what you expected him to say. "What we really are?"

You furrow your brows and shake your head and are about to be dramatic. Just like their President. But the piglin puts up a hand, a faint smile on his snout. 

"No need to be dramatic. It's just us, man." He shakes his head with a silent chuckle. "We're different from the rest."

"What do you mean?" You venture. "That we're better at fighting? We  _ are _ but -"

"No, we're Gods. Wilbur too." He says, snorting out. "Though I think you figured yourself out a long time ago?"

You stare at him and weigh the implications in your head. There could be more than one of those like  _ you _ ? A brief flash of jealousy spears cleaves through you, and you grip the handle of your axe. But it settles quickly, because you need a clear mind to speak.

“No, but I guess I thought something was different.”

“The uh… pull, right?” And when you nod, he makes a thoughtful noise. “Yeah, you get used to it.”

And you can only make a sound, brows furrowed - Tommy nor Tubbo have mentioned a call they gave out to Wilbur, a specific hook for him to cling to. Something to ask later.

“Why are you telling me this?” You ask, a frown playing on your unseen lips.

“I’m not here for secrets or theatrics.” He gives an awkward roll of his shoulders and you feel a deep kinship with the fellow God. “And why not?”

You can’t argue with that.

“I’m thinking of taking Tommy out for a little ride through the forest, to clear his head.” You say, more to yourself - the boy needs a reprieve, and there’s something you feel like you should work out with him, alone.

“Eh? You do whatever, man.” The piglin snorts, grindstone to the edge of his blade. “Have fun.”

And that, too, you can’t argue with - you hope Tommy will have fun, at least.

The boy deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO HOW'S EVERYBODY FEELING? Slowly reworking my plans (and most likely feeling what Wilbur's feeling LOL) for the ending; however, it's given me ideas for a sequel fic through the eyes of Tommy (who was supposed to be the OG POV for THIS fic but things happen). 
> 
> This chapter was hard, probably for a variety of reasons; wanting to get to the festival/happier chapters, I started writing during the day of the festival, etc. etc.
> 
> There will be certain scenes I decide just not to do right now for various reasons, and will be put into an extra scenes compliation.
> 
> Anyhow, thank you for reading! xoxo


	13. Yeah, surprise, I'm in the same time/Beneath the same sun

You think it’s funny watching Tommy try desperately to start a fire. Hasn’t he had to do this before? However, he acts as if he’s discovered a dungeon with how he cheers himself on when the fire roars to life. It’s endlessly amusing and he sticks his tongue out at you when he hears your long-winded laugh.

“Shut up! I haven’t seen you make a fire!”

With a quirk of your eyebrow, you take a piece of flint and a rock and strike them together to create sparks.

Tommy stares at you, then huffs. 

You decide to venture a question, as Tommy pulls out some of the food you’d snuck out of L’Manburg. 

“How have you been, Tommy?”

He stops as if he’d been held back, a small flinch and you wonder - has anybody asked him that? Has his mentor not really asked him? Does he truly neglect the boy who sees him as his world - and another question wiggles in your hands, like a slimy fish that stares at you with accustive eyes before you throw it on ice.

Does their President being a God have anything to do with that? Does he use his powers of word charisma to draw others in - and now, it makes you question his every action. But you can never question the brotherly love he has for Tommy - that he cried, because you remember it, when Tommy had stumbled back to his side with an arrow lodged in his body.   
  
Being a God never made Dream emotionless or heartless, so you guess that carries over to the God of words and the piglin, a God of war and displacement.

Tommy finally answers, and you realize that time seemed to have slowed just for a second.

“I’m… going. It’s hard being so far from Tubbo, though. And L’Manburg.” He stares at the fire and holds the piece of bread you had handed him like it’s his anchor. “Mainly just lonely. Which is why I’m thankful for this.”

You hum and smile and nod, so many actions at once juggled carefully. Tommy eats and nods and smiles around his food, so many actions handled with ease.

“I’m glad. I was thinking we could practice with your swordsmanship a little more and horseback riding.”

Tommy looks eager and he swallows audibly. “Technoblade was teaching me how to fight with axes the other day! He said I  _ wasn’t terrible _ !” So many words tumbling out like a river’s fastest currents and you find it endearing.

“To have training from him!” You fake excitement, as if the God couldn’t simply just strike down somebody like Tommy and Tubbo with ease and he feels like Tommy needs training. You’re jealous, you know - the first person you can consider a brother and you’re acting like a petty, petulant child.

And now you feel like Tommy when Tubbo was (in so many instances) hurt, pushed around, insulted. Ready to jump the lines and fight like a rabid animal. Ready to fight for your friends, teeth dug into your enemy, until you or your catch is dead.

A puzzle piece lands in your mind as Tommy speaks, though you can see the exhaustion eating him away.

“Yeah, he said we’d need to have everybody on fighting terms if shit was gonna go right.” He seems enamored, now, by his axe - but you can tell it’s some hollow feeling. “But I keep wondering if there’s other ways to go about getting L’Manburg back?”

_ Words. You used words the first time to secure safety - does it eat you away, Tommy, that right now words are meaningless except to cause more pain? _

“There’s always other ways, Tommy. Remember how you proved yourself to everybody?” You prod him to think for himself, beyond his President’s sphere of influence. “You just need to  _ think _ .”

There’s a quiet, tired, look in his eyes that glitter like gems left out in the sun. 

“Yeah, you’re right, big man.” He puts his axe away and draws out the book you wrote for him. “You still mean everything you wrote in here?”

“I believe in L’Manburg, Tommy - yes, I do still mean everything in that book.” You say with such conviction that Tommy nods, as if an errant thought had been smoothed over. “Whatever you believe in, I can believe it’s worth saving.”

He smiles at that and you feel a nice, pleasant feeling settle into your heart. You’ve cheered him up, bolstered his emotions and shored up any eroding frontline.

“Get some sleep, Tommy. We’ve got a long day tomorrow.” You smile and he smiles back, so in tune with your unseen face.

“Alright, man. You sleep well, too.”

You only nod as he flops to his side, food consumed and mind set at ease.

But the puzzle is coming together in your mind and you set aside yourself to tell Tommy that you’ll be gone for a few days, a week and a half at most. There’s things you need to research by yourself and add to Tubbo’s libraries.

And for now, as the fire slowly puttered out, you contented yourself with the forest sounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the next few chapters - we truly get the angst tags their wear and use :(
> 
> Again, hope you all are enjoying everything! My tumblr is linked in my profile if you ever want to follow and say hi! I don't bite! <3
> 
> Thank you for reading! xoxo


	14. Shot at the sun with a gun/Shot at his wily one only friend

It started innocently enough, on that walk back from Manberg. Wilbur had been quiet, Tommy silent in his fuming fury. He'd been held back by Wilbur from shooting ( _and Schlatt had been within range, it would've been easy, he knew how poorly the man treated Tubbo, it should've been an easy fix_ ) and left to stew in his own rage as the alcoholic goat cackled about some _festival._

When they left, the crowd had seemed excited. 

Tubbo had looked excited.

But Schlatt had to be the villain, still, right? 

"Tommy?" Wilbur stops them, the cold fall winds rattling the pines and spruces around them in a jarring sound. "Tommy, are we the villains?"

It's said with a breathlessness, full of disbelief and awe and something deeper, darker. Tommy felt a chill fill him, breathed into his bones by the winds that threatened to pick him up and throw him into the river. 

They were so close to Pogtopia.

He wanted to sleep. 

"This festival thing is a great idea!" Wilbur laughed out loud and it caught Tommy by surprise. "It's a fantastic idea!"

Tommy shook his head, wordless. He stepped down the stairs that fed into the ravine, Wilbur hot on his tail. He muttered to himself and Tommy wished he had his thoughts together. 

He was being attacked by all sides and everything was crumbling, faster than he could pick them up. Flaking at a simple touch. Their footsteps echoed out into the empty ravine, a home that was beginning to feel like a tomb. 

"Tommy!" Wilbur called out, his hands in the air as he advanced on his right hand. "Tommy, you're scared, aren't you?"

"You're -"

"You're trying to sound like you know what you're doing, so that you can prove me wrong. Tommy... none of us know what we're doing. We're fucked, we were fucked the minute we were thrown out." Wilbur is rambling, hands clutching hard on Tommy's shoulders.

"And... I know you're scared, Tommy, I understand you're scared. And it's scary! It's scary, Tommy, but y'know what, in a time like this, when a man has nothing to lose, do you know what that means?"

Tommy stares into the eyes of a monster and feels a tug, pulling him in. He wants to pull away, but he's paralyzed. 

" _We can do whatever we want_. Nobody else has our backs. Everybody who performs at being our friend? A fucking liar. They just want to string us along and hang us out to dry the second they fucking can!" Wilbur sneers. "Tubbo? He's lying -"

Tommy's face scrunches up in rage and his fist flies. With a sickening crunch, Wilbur's nose is a trickling and broken fountain of blood. They stare at each other, and there's a mixture of emotions in their exchange. 

_Only Gods can draw blood._ Is what Wilbur must think, but Tommy is unknowing of.

_He's gone fucking insane_. Is what Tommy must think, but Wilbur surely must be cognizant of. 

"Shut up! Just - just don't bring him up, okay? None of them are looking to stab us in the back. They're our friends."

"What about Eret?"

"We - we made a bad call, alright?" Tommy looks at his mentor and for the first time, he can't muster up any soldiers of pride.

He just feels empty. 

"We could just blow it up, Tommy." Wilbur speaks just long enough, before he staunches the blood flow once more and speaks muffled. "All of it, gone. No land to quibble over. Gone."

Again, he feels numb and lonely. 

"Whatever you think is best. It's not right, but I'll follow you. This isn't the right thing to do, this isn't the moral thing to do. You're being... What's the point in doing anything if we've lost all hope? You've gotta stay with it, man. You've gotta pull yourself together."

Tommy looks at his aching hand, but there wasn't any of his own blood and he speaks quietly to himself.

"How can they drink from the well of liberty, if it's blown up?"

Wilbur just chuckles. 

"I think we should… have time alone." Wilbur stumbles to the side, leaning into a wall. "Clear the air."

"Yeah." Tommy chokes out, but he's thinking of falling asleep in Tubbo's arms, his best friend that seemed a few hundred thousand miles away. "Yeah."

Tommy left without even looking back, his head, his shoulders, his heart feeling like a few hundred thousand pounds heavier. 

He could only blink, and the happy sounds of tinny music played in his ears. 

Where had the time gone? 

<->-<->

“We haven’t hung out like this in a long time.” Wilbur said, and Tommy looked down, his feet propped up against the gutters. “It’s nice. Look at them, down there, they’re having so much fun.”

Tommy wonders if it burns Wilbur to see his former son, Fundy, playfully fighting with a … look on his face. He kept getting put up against tough opponents and Tommy really wondered if he was having fun.

His eyes kept drifting over to Niki and Tubbo - and distantly, he wondered if they were happier like this. Tubbo had seemed excited for his speech.

He tried so hard to be happy for his best friend.

“We can’t do this.” Wilbur says suddenly, though he looks unsure of himself. 

Tommy just frowns, but he nods. He knows what he’ll do when Wilbur tries to step away and the potions in his bags weigh like heavy weights in his mind.

_ Strength potions, gifts from Dream.  _

They stay crouched, glittering festival lights below them. They look as if Tommy could take his feet and stomp them out, cracking and splintering beneath his boots. Tommy feels anxious energy jittering through every nerve ending. And he feels like he's about to explode, just like L'Manburg will if he can't stop Wilbur. Wilbur is on the floor below him, watching the people begin to filter towards their seats.

“Tubbo knows what to do.” Wilbur says quietly, but just loud enough for Tommy to hear. “If he isn’t too much of a yes-man and doesn’t bend to everybody else’s expectations, he’ll have a choice.”

And that draws Tommy’s ire, leaning over. “How fucking dare you say that about him!” He hisses and Wilbur just stares at him coolly, as if his prior affection had gone from him. “Just shut the fuck up, they’re about to start.”

Their heads turn from each other, but they’re staring at the same point.

Schlatt rambles on about shit Tommy doesn’t care about. He praises his cabinet, and Tommy tries to burn holes into their heads from his distance away from them. Tubbo waits, and Tommy can see him clutching his speech papers nervously.

And usually, when Tubbo was nervous, Tommy was right by his side. While not next to him, Tubbo knew they were up here and so in spirit he was there - right by his best friend’s side. Soon, Schlatt trailed off long enough that he then motioned to Tubbo. Made some reference Tubbo didn’t get, before he was standing in front of the microphone.

Tommy liked this speech more, even if some of the words made him burn with rage. It was all to keep up appearances and Tommy took in more of the people below. They bore pins and pennants of the Manberg flag, colors that swathed the entire fairgrounds. It was the wrong flag and he overwhelmingly wanted to burn them all.

Maybe Technoblade would be up for it, before he had to return back to wherever he’d come from.

However, when Wilbur peered more out of his window, Tommy refocused on the stage. Schlatt had started to talk, demanding something of Tubbo, who spluttered out whatever it was Schlatt had wanted.

And Wilbur had turned, ready to run and Tommy realized that Tubbo had said what Schlatt  _ and _ Wilbur had wanted. Tommy turned to grab at Wilbur’s arm, as the man looked near delirious and insane.

“Let me go, Tommy!” He pushed, but Tommy didn’t budge. 

He was only dimly aware of what was going on on the stage, even as he hears Techno is being called up. Wilbur stares at him, unseeing and yet draws Tommy in. Two deep pits that scare him beyond belief.

“It’ll be okay, Tommy, he’s our ally. Now let me go. He said the code word - he wants it gone.” Wilbur hisses and Tommy feels a well of rage being fed to him, so he grips Wilbur’s arm tighter. 

“No, no you can’t -”

“ _ KILL HIM ON THIS FUCKING STAGE! NOW!” _

Tommy lets go and Wilbur runs, and Tommy looks over, eyes wide. Techno holds a crossbow, loaded, and it’s pointing directly at Tubbo. Something breaks in Tommy - trust, naivety ( _ which can’t be true, because he thought he lost it when he was dying of that arrow _ ), of having somebody he looked up to about to kill his friend.

And what he refuses to see, locked in a cage of rage and grief, is that Techno is aiming just to the side of Tubbo. It wouldn’t kill, but it would hurt.

But Tommy only saw **_red_**. Fire, explosions, death - red, red, red, like the ram horn banners that flank everybody.

**_Red_** , like the fireworks about ready to explode.

**_Red_** , like the colors of the firework when it exploded - loud, screeching, howling, as Schlatt and Quackity fled (although the president wouldn’t get away unharmed, his hair singed and his face forever marred).

**_Red_** , like the colors that Tommy saw as he waded through the smoke. Screams erupted in the fairgrounds as more fireworks were launched and fire erupted from greedily eaten fabrics.

**_Red_** , like the color Tubbo was - his face scrunched up in pain, half of it bleeding and raw from the incidenaries exploded right by it. A sword slash cut across his chest, a declaration of further betrayal in Tommy’s eyes.  _ They hurt his friend, it could all burn, it could go down for all he cared and  _ -

“Tommy…?” A weak hand was brushed against his face, **_red_ **like the colors he was so grossly colored with. “Don’t be angry. We need to get home….”

Tommy softened up like a switch had been flipped and he picked his friend up. The fairgrounds were still a mess, and Tommy had left behind so much of his shit on the rooftop and there were now arrows being flung at him, angry calls of the president’s loyal followers.

So Tommy ran, ran far and fast, back to the only place he could call home and he could only hope that Wilbur wouldn’t ever find that button.

And when he was at the edge of L’Manburg and nothing exploded ( _ except for his world, except for his friend, who would greedily drink a healing potion when they stopped for a second _ ), Tommy felt a brief respite of relief.

Then, he was running again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'know, in my original draft of this story, Wilbur was going to die in this chapter :P However, the title lines still fit for what happened, so I decided to keep them.
> 
> Next chapter WILL be the last, however, and I'm pretty busy this week, so don't expect anything until Fridayish.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and hope to see you on the other side next chapter! xoxo


	15. I'm Not Angry Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not angry anymore  
> Well, sometimes I am  
> I don't think badly of you  
> Well, sometimes I do
> 
> It depends on the day  
> The extent of all my worthless rage  
> I'm not angry anymore

Tommy runs the rest of the way, Tubbo in his arms. He barely even pays attention to the beautiful forest around him, simply a buffer between him and the Hell that had occurred behind him. And it slowly dawned upon him, as the adrenaline gave way to regret, that he had told Wilbur to blow up L’Manburg. All for Tubbo, all in the red haze of his mind, all for a simple rage that had swallowed him whole.

He didn’t want any of that, words spoken in a hazy fugue. All for his friend, whose head lolled in sleep - the potions healed most of his wounds, but he must still be hurting. 

As they arrive at the entrance of the cave and Tommy places Tubbo down carefully, just for a breather, Tommy feels something stuck to his back. And when he grunts, attempts made at getting whatever it was, his hands ghost over the shaft of an arrow. 

Something that had nearly killed him before, now stuck in a fatal place (between the ribs, right next to the spine). He briefly tosses around the idea that the adrenaline is his saving grace, but that excuse was flimsy at best and at worst, it held no water.

It was easy to pull it out, and it reminded him of Dream just a few weeks prior. Was he - ?

No. 

Another flimsy excuse that melted away in the rain. And when he pulls it from his body, he stares at the perfectly intact arrow. As if it had been pulled through him so easily like a hot knife through butter. He shakes, the simple presence of it and every little implication it carries too much for the battered boy.

So, instead, he breaks the thing in two and tosses it aside. Tubbo needs him now, more than ever.

If he doesn’t worry himself over shit like that, he won’t have to worry about ever. And he picks Tubbo up, like he doesn’t have the sudden weight of the world upon his shoulders - shoulders that have shook in near death, in tears at seeing his friend so close to death, shoulders that continue to ache from their burdens.

But he looks at Tubbo, his best friend; the one person who’s stuck with Tommy through thick and thin. 

And he feels peace.

\---

“I’ll never forgive you!” Tommy screams, spit flying from his mouth in his worthless rage. Worthless because everybody stares at him, Tubbo swaying with Nikki keeping him held up. “Fuck you, Techno! You nearly fucking killed him!”

And had he not been so enshrined in his rage and burdens, Tommy would notice the way the piglin falters in the face of the boy he had trained. So many things unspoken, and had they even been said, would the blond ticking time bomb even listen?

He offers up the best excuse he can. 

“I felt pressured -”

Tommy laughs, but it doesn’t carry to his voice or his eyes. “Pressured?! Fuck you! Fuck you!” 

He shakes and Techno sighs. 

But it’s Wilbur who speaks first, a small smile on his face.

“Why don’t we fight it out? I know how much you and Techno liked to spar.” Wilbur smiles and Tommy can only insert his own bitterness in that action - no trust, yet he still wants to help him - and the burden on his shoulders weighs heavier. “There’s a bit of pit already in the back of the ravine.”

Tommy only nods, while Nikki looks on horrified ( _ when did she get here? What happened? Tommy isn’t upset she’s here, only surprised _ ) and Tubbo blinks blindly ( _ and Tommy can only insert his own worthless rage into the dulled eye, because he sees his own failings _ ) and Techno just stares at him.

He only nods when they reach the mouth of the little niche there. And he’s the first to enter, waiting. 

“You don’t have to, Tommy.” Nikki says and it cuts through his brain like the arrow had. “You-”

“Nikki, let them sort this out for themselves.” Wilbur snaps and he nudges Tommy down. “They were always better off after sparring.”

Tommy only has to blink, and he throws the first punch. But Techno has always been a heavier hitter and his punches hurt. And while Tommy gets a few good ones in, he feels his nose break; his eye hurts; spots all over burn. 

All the while, Wilbur laughs. He laughs, like a man broken. Laughs like his nose is broken, a fountain of blood that stains the uneven flooring. Broken, as if he was the only one stateless and cut off from his own history.

As if he wasn’t a child, bleeding and crying.

It stops when Nikki has finally had enough, and Tommy finds himself with far more respect for her. She gingerly grabs him and pulls him away, a dirty look cast at her former President.

“What’s gotten into you, Wilbur?” She frowns.

“I’ve learned that this world isn’t kind.” 

That’s enough for Nikki to ignore him in favor of herding both boys away. 

“Come on, you two.” She comforts them quietly and it’s enough that Tommy nearly starts to cry. “Where’s the medical supplies…”

<->-<->

Tommy sits in the grass, Niki and Tubbo his only companions in the dying light. The soft melody of the jukebox calls for him to close his eyes, to slip into his exhaustion. His wounds are nearly gone without the aid of potions or bandages - it makes his lull so much easier ( _ but he doesn’t want to think about Tubbo’s wounds, a star wound that spreads across his face like a wicked hand that stole the sight from his left eye, his hearing dulled _ ). The pit fight still smarts on him with purple bruises and a black eye but… With his only friends and allies now by his side, safety feels like a welcomed friend.

But a shuffle of Niki, turning defensive for the two boys (even though she isn’t any much older than them and how sad is that, Tommy thinks despairingly, that they’re all children up against the world?) rouses him from his slumber. 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?”

He opens his eyes and there, standing at the edge of the light their bonfire gives off, is Dream. Tommy stares at him through the haze of the flames, silent and confused.

“More like - where were  _ you _ .” Tommy hisses, and he doesn’t think he can stand one more betrayal. Betrayal of people who he saw as family, began to see as family - abandoned in the flames and smoke of an attack that had all gone to shit.

Dream shuffles awkwardly, but pulls out books. Tubbo perks up and Tommy is thankful that his friend’s curiosity is the one constant is this constant fucking shake-up.

“I got caught up traveling.” And Tommy knows that’s right, that he said he’d be gone to travel, and not to tell Wilbur. And he hadn’t, but the haze of the entire thing had choked out his mind entirely. “And I found books.”

Tommy, Niki and Tubbo speak in tandem, curious for different reasons. “What  _ kind  _ of books?”

“They’re books on magic. Some are enchanting books, but others are history. I wanted to learn about dimensions and summoning.”

Tubbo makes a noise of interest. “But aren’t you the God of these lands? Can’t you just… kick them out?”

And Tommy knows if they could see his face, Dream would be frowning.

“And that’s why I wanted to seek these books out, to figure out why I couldn’t. It doesn’t look good, but there  _ is _ a loophole. Just in case. Remember your basis for calling Technoblade into these lands?”

“To overthrow the currently installed government of JSchlatt.” Tommy says and Tubbo nods in agreement. 

Niki gasps and Dream looks to her, head tilted to hear her out. 

“So… we could send Techno back by taking back L’Manburg?” She says softly and it comforts Tommy after so many hours of screaming and explosions. Niki looks to Tommy and she smiles and it brings a soft comfort to the boy. “Well, we were already thinking about that.”

Dream claps his hands and he looks at Niki, then Tubbo, then to Tommy. He likes to think the big man is smiling beneath that mask.

“Yes. And then Wilbur would be easier to take down after that. He’s a man of… words.” Dream says it slowly, as if finding the right words in the moment was as hard as wading through a harsh river. 

Tommy nods, a sick feeling in his belly at the mention of his… former brother. And Dream finally, fully, looks at Tommy. He wants to walk away, never look back at this place - the wounds from the pit fight still smarting even as they heal. 

He thinks it might be his own mind blockading his healing. 

"Who did that to you?" Dream asks, anger infecting every syllable. "Was it -"

"Wilbur egged him on to fight Technoblade." Nikki answers for him and Tommy is surprised by his relief - he isn't frightened of Dream, not when he's seen true monsters now, but he's beyond the point of exhaustion. "Wilbur's… not Wilbur."

Dream is quiet, and Tommy wonders what he might be mulling over. If he decides to jump ship and turn against them, for whatever reason, they stand no chance. Even if their physical wounds are healing, the mental damage will linger far longer.

Tommy can’t stand another fight.

"Then it's good I never truly believed in him." He says easily. "I believe in Tommy."

Tommy can only smile, smile as he feels a tug and pull towards Dream who looks at him back.

Something is different, and Tommy is nearly sure he knows what it is. 

Whatever Dream is, whatever Wilbur is, whatever Technoblade is, he's close enough to it to touch.

His head feels heavier. 

His shoulders feel heavier. 

Nikki hugs him. Tubbo hugs him. Dream steps closer, watching over them and that's close enough to a hug for Tommy. 

<->-<->

Tommy looks out towards a valley marred by mortal hands when everybody else has gone away. Rivers that snake, lakes that pool beneath a warm sky. Friends turned to foe, lands that call out to him but their people cruel to him. 

He knows his fate, and it's to rise above his ashes. 

He knows that he is something else. 

He knows that he isn't some pretty jewel to be worn and used. A black eye that peers out into an unforgiving world, and yet all he sees is hope. 

Hope in a world that is still worth fighting for. 

He knows he has his friends - Tubbo, Nikki and Dream. 

He knows this isn't the end. The valley that lays beneath the sun and the moon, with snaking rivers, beckons him home. Their L'Manburg still beat within their chests, a slumbering heart. 

Tommy returns to his niche in Pogtopia, finds Tubbo and Nikki and smiles. He lays down, the silence pockmarked lovingly by their snores. The energy of everything has eaten him alive, but he feels ready for anything. 

Tommy closes his eyes, and curls up into Tubbo's side. Sleep doesn't come easy, but with his friend at his side, he knows that anything to come can be conquered. L’Manburg slept in all of their hearts, not just Tommy’s. It would live as long as those who believe in it were alive - kept the memory of what it was and still could be, alive as the winds that blew, the rivers that snaked, the people who smiled and laughed and frolicked.

With a single dream, he starts to remember. 

( _ it comes with a disconnected head-splitting feeling; of faces he thinks he knows; places he thinks he remembers; of a bond that was split by the shifting tides of the world; and he remembers only a miniscule bit of it all and he wonders, like an echo in a deep cave, whether he’ll remember  _ **_this_ ** _ when he wakes up _ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys all enjoyed! I'm planning on doing some shorter chapters in another fic for stuff that happened and wasn't touched on in this section of the story :) And then a much more Tommy centered fic once this next arc wraps up. Looking forward to writing Quackity, as I think he presents (atm) a really good narrative parallel to Tommy.
> 
> And thank you guys so much for reading my first foray into actual chapter work. I hope you guys stick around for any future projects that I'll be doing xoxo


End file.
